


Week One Challenge: ...And they lived happily ever after

by dizzzylu



Series: Mating Games: The Return [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, POV Derek Hale, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's only once or twice a week he comes by, when the sheriff works an overnight. It's not explicitly stated that he's also there to keep Stiles company, but Derek understands.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Week One Challenge: ...And they lived happily ever after

**Author's Note:**

> There is one line that could be interpreted as suicidal ideation (in the loosest sense of the term), so if even a whiff of that can be triggering for you, please turn back. Otherwise this is just me working out my post-nogitsune Stiles feels in a vague sort of way.

_Once upon a time,_ Derek thinks to himself, in the voice he might've used to tell fairy tales with, _there was a ragtag pack that defied all logic_ : a human, a banshee, a kitsune, a werewolf and a hunter. With a true alpha at its helm, it defeated the unconquerable.

Now, that pack is fractured almost beyond repair; mourning, unsure, confused, and stripped raw. 

In order to fix it, Derek jumps into the deep end.

***

Stiles is reluctant to talk about it, to even see Derek in the first place. But the sheriff asks Derek for help with some unsolved, possibly supernatural, cases, which gives Derek a solid reason to be at the house at all. Once Stiles realizes what's going on, his natural curiosity does the work for Derek.

It's only once or twice a week he comes by, when the sheriff works an overnight. It's not explicitly stated that he's also there to keep Stiles company, but Derek understands. Is even grateful to be of use twice over. 

"I know you're here to baby-sit me," Stiles says, a few nights in, his history and calculus books spread out in front of him, along with an iPad open to the Argent bestiary. "The only reason you're still here is because I'm okay with it." 

It's not hard to let Stiles believe that.

***

It's a lot of give and take; mostly Derek giving Stiles as much space as possible, with Stiles throwing attitude if Derek asks the wrong question. But each time it happens, the tantrum is a little quieter, the footsteps more forgiving. It comes to feel like routine, not quite like before— _before_ , but something close. Something familiar. Something real.

***

Stiles is calm until he isn't, and Derek has to replay the conversation to see what button he accidentally pushed. It's not always the same thing, sometimes not even related to Stiles' life or the nogitsune. Derek tries to let Stiles work it out on his own, the anger and frustration, but it gets to him sometimes too, enough for him interrupt Stiles' building rant.

"It's not always going to be like this!" 

Stiles' mouth stops mid-word, his face red, his eyes blazing. "How would you know?"

"Because I know how it feels; the guilt. Not being able to look at yourself in the mirror. Not being able to trust your instincts. Stuck with the memories of the things your body did. Your _body_ Stiles. Not you." Derek lowers his voice. "It gets better. Easier. Hiding away doesn't help. It only widens the divide, making it seem more and more impossible to fix."

"Like you know?" Stiles sneers. "You're not exactly the poster boy for self-care."

"No, but I'm not the one holed up in my bedroom, either. Avoiding all the people I love, who care about me."

Stiles pushes away from the table and jerks himself out of his chair. "That's because nobody DOES care about you."

Derek firms his jaw. "Be a dick all you want, Stiles. It doesn't change the fact that I've been there. That I know what that guilt's like. It'll eat you alive if you let it."

"Maybe I want it to," Stiles says through grinding teeth.

"I don't believe you."

"Why do you _care_?!"

Derek shrugs. "You saved my life, once. Maybe I'm trying to do the same."

***

Derek gives it a week and comes bearing dinner from Dinah's. Stiles accepts by way of a werewolf movie retrospective.

Derek's had worse nights.

***

The fight somehow reinforces what was turning into a friendship, strengthening it with fire once Derek proves he won't take Stiles' shit, but he won't abandon him either. Stiles comes down more often, is less combative when Derek doesn't agree with Stiles' theories, and smiles occasionally. Honest smiles that light up his eyes. 

Derek might've worried about it, trying to memorize the curve of Stiles' smile, but once he catches himself, it feels too little, too late.

***

Case file nights turn into an hour of homework, then a night of pop culture education. Stiles takes it upon himself to fill in the gaps; when Derek and Laura were too busy fleeing for their lives to indulge in a movie night.

It feels natural, then, in the blue light of the television, their socked feet knocking together on the coffee table, for Stiles to lean in, for Derek to look over at him, for their mouths to meet. It's the summer and Stiles is in a threadbare t-shirt and an even flimsier pair of pajama pants, and Derek wants.

***

"I'm fairly sure this isn't why your dad asked for my help," Derek pants, hands tight on Stiles' hips.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Stiles gasps.

Derek chuckles. "Because that worked so well with the werewolf secret?"

"Just shut up about my dad and move your goddamn hips, would you?"

Derek flashes a grin and rolls them over, reveling in Stiles' wide, surprised eyes. Stiles recovers quick enough to take control, his body moving ragged and unsure, pressing down nowhere near where Derek wants it, until he nudges Stiles over with a knee. Then, _then_ …it's still stuttered and confusing, their bellies sticking together where their shirts rode up, but it's Stiles' breath in his ear, his face rasping against Derek's beard. It's Stiles' gutted moans sounding too loud and it's so, so good.

Stiles doesn't last long, not that Derek expected him too. Still, he holds Stiles close and ruts up into him, rocking Stiles through his orgasm until Derek's creeps up on him, balls drawn tight.

Stiles is a wilted, panting mess, after; sprawled all along Derek's body, his right hand and leg dangling over the edge of the sofa. He moans a little as Derek tries to move him, but goes with the motion. Until he startles out of his haze and jerks upright, almost clipping Derek in the chin.

"I didn't even get to see your dick," he groans. His hand settles on Derek's crotch, his palm heavy over the sticky wet spot.

"We've got time," Derek says, hoping to keep the unsure wobble out of his voice.

Stiles' face brightens, into something like hope. "Yeah?"

Derek nods and pulls him close. "We've got awhile."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [dizzzylu](http://dizzzylu.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
